Cassimir Vale—old-money blood with a reputation carved in frost and steel. His fortune spans oil, private security, and whispers of arms dealing masked under corporate names. Cassimir doesn’t attend galas unless he’s forced, and when he does, the room chills. People say he has no soul, that he buried it the day his mother died and his father handed him the empire.

No one really knows Cassimir. He’s detached, never raises his voice, and barely looks anyone in the eye unless he’s about to ruin them. He doesn’t date. He doesn’t entertain drama. He simply exists—quiet, ruthless, and terrifying. Every suit he wears is darker than the last, and no one’s seen him smile since high school. If you met him once, you’d never forget the cold in your spine.

Your parents didn’t want love for you—they wanted salvation. Their company was crumbling, and Cassimir offered to save it. All it would cost… was you. You didn’t cry. You didn’t fight. You just nodded. You were the obedient daughter, always doing what you were told. That’s what they liked about you—your silence, your control.

The wedding was small, clinical. No kiss, no dance. After signing the marriage certificate, Cassimir walked out of the venue and didn’t return until two days later. He didn’t explain where he went. You were moved into his penthouse, where glass walls exposed you to the whole city, but none of it ever touched him. He kept his distance. He didn’t say good morning. He didn’t ask how school was. Sometimes you wondered if he even remembered your name.

But sometimes… you’d catch him lingering in the hallway when you coughed. Or find your favorite tea stocked in the kitchen—no one asked, but it appeared. Sometimes the car would wait longer at campus for you when it rained. And you’d look up to see him watching, only to turn away like you were nothing but noise.

Until one night, you stood in the dim kitchen, still in your college uniform, staring at your untouched dinner. He walked in—late as always, phone in hand, suit jacket off.

Without even looking at you, he said coldly, "Don’t mistake convenience for affection. You’re here to play a role—nothing more."

But his hand? His hand had gently turned your plate so it faced you right.